


Painted Hearts

by AngelycDevil, EveryDayBella



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelycDevil/pseuds/AngelycDevil, https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDayBella/pseuds/EveryDayBella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes is a happy man. He’s got a nice job, cushy life and a daughter who makes his whole world go around. </p><p>Enter Steve Rogers, an old pal who has nothing in common with the skinny guy Bucky remembers from way back when, except for the way he blushes every time he looks at Bucky. Things are more tangled than they were years ago, but that’s nothing a few painted hearts can’t fix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY PACKY! <33

“Princess, come on, we’ve gotta go.” Bucky called up the stairs, hoping that he wouldn’t have to go up and get her and find paint all over the place. It wouldn’t be the first time. He loved his daughter’s creativity, but he needed to be across town in an hour. 

“Coming, Daddy!” She bounds down the stairs, dark red curls bouncing around her face. Bucky can’t help the grin that takes over his face. His own personal beam of sunshine. 

“Alright, let’s go.” He helps her into her coat, straps her into her car seat and listens to her chatter about the things she sees out her window. 

Grace is four and half, and she’s Bucky’s heart and soul. When her mother left a little over two years before, Grace had become his world. As long as she was safe and happy, he was happy. 

Or he wanted to be. The last couple of months had been rough, but he was pulling them out of it. She was growing up so fast every day, and he doesn’t want to miss a single moment. 

“Mr. Rogers said that it was the best in the class.”

“What was that, Princess?” 

“My painting. It has flowers and moons and a giant robot. Mr. Rogers said it was the best.”

Oh yes, Mr. Rogers. What unfortunate name to have, and a preschool art teacher too boot. Bucky snickers. Regardless of the the unfortunate name, he was his Princess’ favorite teacher. Not a day went by that he didn’t hear about Mr. Rogers. 

“When do I get to see this masterpiece, Princess?”

“Daddy.” She rolls her eyes, and Bucky thinks it’s adorable. “It’s my art project for open house. You don’t get to see it until then. It’s not done yet.”

“Well, I look forward to it, Princess.”

Grace chattered the whole way to Sam’s house. Bucky barely got a word in, but he didn’t really mind. Not at the moment, and as soon they made it into Sam’s house, she was stolen away by Sam’s kids. 

“Thanks for this, man.” Bucky tells his friend. “It shouldn’t take long. At least I don’t think it will.”

“Take your time.” Sam urges. “I think you and Steve will hit it off, and she’s happy enough here for a little while.”

“Sam, are you trying to set me up?” Bucky smirks, though he’s really dreading the answer. He’s not against dating or anything, but with Grace it makes things a little difficult, and he doesn’t really wanna deal with it. 

“No, of course, not. You just need to get out a little.”

“Shut up, Sammy.” 

Sam just laughs at him. 

Bucky has to turn on the radio during the drive across town. The car feels too empty without Grace in the backseat chattering away at him. He pulls up in front of a nice little duplex, double checks the address to make sure he’s in the right place. Which he is. 

He’s not nervous walking up to the front door. Not too much anyway. 

He rings the doorbell, before burying his hands in his pockets. It takes a moment before the door is jerked, and Bucky feels his jaw drop. 

Sam never told him his artist friend is so damn hot. 

He has short blond hair, taller than Bucky, the brightest blue eyes he’s ever seen. Those blue eyes are hidden behind a pair of horned rimmed glasses. They shouldn’t be hot, but dear God, Bucky loves them. 

Best of all, on the left corner of the the man’s bottom lip is a lip ring. It’s nothing too big, just a silver circle that Bucky has a sudden urge to take between his teeth and pull. It’s been a long time since he’s had an attraction this strong, this instantaneous. 

This can’t be his artist, can it?

“Bucky Barnes?” The words slip out of the blonds kissable pink lips, and realization dawns in Bucky mind. 

Holy shit. “Steve?” No. No way. This can’t be little Steve from college. There was no way. 

Steve looks about shocked as Bucky feels. His cheeks turn red, and Bucky could swear his eyes haven’t blinked in a full minute. Then again, Bucky can’t stop looking either. Steve filled out. Big broad shoulders, the hint of some serious abs hiding under that nearly skin tight shirt. Bucky has make sure he’s not drooling or something equally embarrassing. 

“When Sam mentioned your name I had no idea, you were, well, you.” 

“Yeah, me either.” The hell am I saying? Bucky’s shakes his head trying to clear it out so he can think straight. “You look good.” 

Steve coughs, turning even redder than before. Bucky fights the urge to facepalm himself. 

“Thanks.” Steve squeaks, and then clears his throat. His voice is a deeper, smooth timber when he speaks again, and it makes Bucky weak in the knees. “Um, you do, too.”

“Heh. Thanks. Ya, know, diet, exercise.” Bucky is just bullshiting now. He hasn’t dieted once in his life and the only exercise he gets is chasing down Grace. That’s about all he needs.

Steve shakes his head before smiling big, wide, and sheepishly. “I don’t know where my manners have gone. You wanna come on in?”

Bucky walks past Steve trying not ogle him. He doesn’t think he’s very successful. He just can’t believe that this is Steve. Little, shrimpy Steve Rogers only not so little anymore. The guy beefed up. Bucky can’t quite believe it. The Steve from college had always had a nice smile, but nothing much else going for him. This was incredible.

Steve guides him to the back of the duplex where there’s an open kitchen and living room combo. Steve, Bucky decides, has a really nice ass. 

Stupid, Bucky, stupid.

“It’s a, um, nice place.” Bucky has no idea why he’s stuttering. Where did all his cool confidence go?

“Thanks.” Steve also has a really nice voice. Bucky didn’t remember that. Then again the Steve from college had barely talked. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“God, yes.” Bucky realises he’s said that out loud and he blushes. What the hell is wrong with me? “I mean, yes, please. Thanks.”

Steve smirks, and Bucky has that urge again. The one to pull and tug on that lip ring until he can slip his tongue into Steve’s mouth. Bucky fights the urge. Steve could have a girlfriend for all he knows and he has a daughter. He can’t imagine Steve wants to deal with that. 

Steve slides him a coke across the bar as Bucky sits heavily on one of the stools. He swallows a mouthful of liquid and tries not to stare too hard when Steve does the same. He’s really gotta stop this. 

“So, Sam mentioned you wanted a tattoo design?” Steve sounds nervous, but Bucky figures it must just be related to the work Bucky wants him to do. There’s no way it had anything to do with him. No way. 

Wait, Sam hadn’t known Bucky and Steve knew, or did know, each other, did he? He’d just said he knew someone when Bucky had mentioned that he needed a new tattoo designed. 

Sam wasn’t setting him up. No way.

“Yeah, my aunt passed away a couple months ago. She practically raised me. I wanted to get something done for her.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Steve’s eyes are a deep, genuinely sorry blue and framed by lashes just a little darker than his blond hair. They’re stunningly beautiful, and Bucky wanders what they’d look like in different lighting, darker, softer, wide with arousal underneath him, over him. Hell, it didn’t matter.

Bucky shakes himself. He’s gotta get control of this. “It’s alright. It’s been a little while.”

Steve asks what he’s thinking about wanting and they spend an hour talking about what he wants and look through some of Steve’s other work. Bucky is breathless. He had no idea Steve was so good. Bucky is impressed and itching to see what Steve comes up with. He tries to ignore the fact that he’ll have Steve’s work inked into his skin. That’s too weird a thought for right then. 

“Well, give me a couple of weeks and I’ll see what I can come up with.” Steve looks up at him from under his lashes, his cheeks just slightly pink and Bucky has to bite back a moan. Suddenly, a couple of weeks seems to long. 

When he’s pulling out of Steve’s driveway twenty minutes later and can’t get the guy out of his head, he realizes he could be in trouble.

Big trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve is running late, quite literally, as he sprints down carpeted hallways of the school with a sloshing coffee mug in one hand and a bunch of colorful papers in the other. He must’ve been quite a sight, considering everyone he passes seem to crack a smile. Hopefully, his boss wouldn’t mind too much, since this is the first time he’s been late in the seven months he’s had the job, but then again he’s never been able to predict that woman. Steve comes to a stop in front of his classroom, stumbling against the wall to catch his breath before he goes in. He can hear Mr. Fury’s timbre voice barking out instructions as if he’s a drill sergeant and the kids’ answering giggles. Kids ate that shit up.

Adjusting his files and making sure his coffee didn’t spill anywhere inappropriate, Steve quietly slips into the room (which is only possible because the door is located in the back of the room). His cover doesn’t last too long; its demise starts with a shattering gasp-squeal from Ms. Hannah which causes every single one of eleven heads to snap towards him and a chorus of squeals to follow. Steve plays his part of a caught criminal, throwing up his hands in defeat (or as much as he could with a coffee mug in his hand) and surrendering. The kids giggle in reply, and Steve sighs in relief.

“Alright! Captain Rogers is finally—“ a mock glare is thrown in Steve’s direction and Steve does not flinch, nope “—back on board, so I’ll be taking my leave now. You be good, you hear me? Get back to work.”

“Yes, Mr. Fury,” they reply before focusing all of their minuscule toddler attention spans to their canvases. It’s almost funny.

“Thanks for stepping in, Nick,” Steve whispers, precariously balancing his new stack of worksheets on top of the old ones. While being an art teacher gave him a lot of leeway in how the class is to be taught, he was required to hand out one homework assignment every week. What that is rarely matters, but Steve goes to extreme lengths to make sure that it was as fun but educational as possible. The magic of art lies within its ability to bring emotions to light, intentional or not. Every crayon you choose, every shade, every stroke is what you feel…but Steve tries not to overanalyze, especially when his students don’t even know how to spell “emotions” yet.

As Steve settles into his routine walk around the class, he does his very best to not let his mind wander because he knows where it’ll end up, and it’s a very, very bad thing to be distracted when surrounded by toddlers. Steve learned that lesson a long time ago and fast. So he does his best to focus on every colorful blob and listens too carefully when they explain to him that the acorn-shaped masterpiece is actually a dinosaur and the ocean is pink because that’s the “colowr penquins luwe”.

Time actually takes mercy on him and passes quickly and before he realizes, he’s asking them to clean up and wash their hands extra carefully. Once they’re all safely deposited back to their class, Steve sinks into his chair and drains his coffee, groaning at the realization that he forgot his lunch at the dining table.

Damn Bucky Barnes with his charming smile and bright blue angel eyes and his goddamn tattoos that kept peeking out that fucking shirt for making Steve want nothing more to rip it off him and latch his mouth onto every patch of inked skin he could see.

_Christ, I'm so screwed._

It is bad enough that he harbored a crush on Bucky all through college, but just when he thought he got it out of his system, Bucky showed up on his doorstep yesterday, looking like sin. On top of that, Barnes wants him to design his tattoo which is wonderful, but then he had all these fucking ideas which he used his hands to describe with a silly little grin on his face, and all Steve wants to do is pin those flailing arms against a wall and press his mouth to Bucky's. He is everything that Steve remembered and more, and my god, Steve has never wanted someone like this before.

This is going to be a disaster.

A big ole’ clusterfuck because Steve knows himself and he _knows_ that one of these days, he’s gonna blurt out the wrong thing and ruin everything. Steve knows Bucky had a girl all through senior year. Hell, he could still be having that same girl and little white picket fence to match because Bucky was that kinda guy. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop his heart from fluttering like fireflies lifting to the sky then and he has little doubt that he can now.

No. No, he has to. This isn’t college anymore. Bucky is and will only ever be a client. Steve will have to make sure that.

He can’t risk his career now, and if he goes anywhere near Bucky Barnes, that’s what he’ll be doing ‘cause that’s just type of thing Steve does. He messes up every single good thing that ever comes by. It’s a damn miracle he hasn’t lost this job yet, but then again, he has been getting better as his therapist ever-so-gently reminded him of. By gently, Steve means Peggy laid down the facts in that hoity-toity British accent of hers and basically told him to suck it up. As much as Steve loves Peggy, he dislikes her almost to the same extreme.

A sharp ring pulls him out of thoughts and Steve fumbles around his desk for his cell phone. He is very much a messy person, but he likes to tell himself that he works better that way. When he finally locates the phone, he’s greeted by the Devil himself and his trademark smirk. You know what they say when you talk about him…

Steve sighs and swipes across Bucky’s face to get to the text, a picture Bucky insisted he take once he realized all of Steve’s contacts had faces next to them.

**Hey, sent you an email. was up last nite researching these stories, right? I found this great one that fits Lucy. wondering maybe you could add it to the final. -Bucky**

Steve doesn’t have to pull up the email to know it was some deep, insightful symbol ‘cause Bucky Barnes never did anything half-assed.

Scoffing a little and actively attempting to not acknowledge how cute his thoughtfulness is, Steve types out a quick reply in the affirmative before anyone catches him with his hand in the cookie jar. By anyone, he means Mrs. Barton who seems to have her hawkeyes trained on Steve twenty-four-seven. Since he has a couple of minutes before his next class starts, Steve decides to spend the time sorting things for the open house that is coming up in a few days. As the art teacher, you can usually get away with “your child is doing splendidly”, but every once in a while, there’s an actual issue that needs to be addressed and while Steve always feels like a dick for nitpicking at a kid’s work, he has yet to be wrong in his analysis. This upcoming conference is going to be one of those and Steve has already begun to mentally prepare. Best case scenario is the parent is completely receptive to the suggestion and works things out. Worst case scenario, he might get fired. You never know who has how much pull in this place, but he supposes that he at least gave it his best shot as he always does.

Grace is one of his outstanding students and favorites. (Yes, he’s not supposed to have favorites, but it happens. At least Steve actively tries to not show it unlike other teachers.) This is one of the main reasons Steve is having trouble with this.

It’s a bitch to figure out a good kid is suffering, but hell if Steve isn’t gonna try his best to convince the parents to listen to him. Whatever was going on that household is none of Steve’s business, but what’s happening to Grace does matter and he’s already talked with her academics teacher about her performance, which has been below par for her for the past few weeks. He tried to talk to her about it, but that led nowhere new. He just wants the best for his students and hopefully, the parents will see it that way too. Steve sighs and sinks further into his chair.

_This is gonna be so much fun, guys._

_Not._


	3. Chapter 3

Every Sunday morning, Bucky has a standing date with Grace. Sunday is Pancake Day.

He’s not quite sure when it started. By the time she was two, she’d wake up on Sunday wanting pancakes. It just became their thing. She’d sit on the bar stool, her red curls tangled around her face, while Bucky made a show out of cooking. Her little giggles are the best way to wake up in the morning. It’s a highlight of his week. They don’t have to rush out to get to school or work and scarf down breakfast. It’s relaxed and easy, and Bucky feels like he can breath without having to freak out about cases that need to be closed or worrying about how Grace is doing in school.

It’s just nice.

Or, it would be if Bucky could focus. Bucky has always prided himself on his ability to focus. It’s part of what makes him so good at his job. He’s dedicated, and that makes it easier to work through the complicated issues with different cases. At home, he’s all about Grace and what she needs and wants. Compartmentalization. That was his trick, and it had served him well.

It had until he met big glasses with a fucking sexy smile and a goddamn lip piercing. Steve. He couldn’t get Steve out of his head. It isn’t a constant thing, he can go for hours without thinking about him, until he’s eating lunch and wondering if Steve liked Italian pizza or reading reports and thinking of Steve covered in paint with a determined light in his eye...which is a much more interesting way to spend the day, and Bucky kinda wants to watch him. In a non-pervy way. Mostly.

It has gotten so bad that he began trying to find excuses to text or email. Just little random ideas for the tattoo that he would come up with, and he doesn't grin stupidly whenever Steve replies. He does not.

He wants to see Steve again. He wants to go out for coffee or something. Can Bucky ask for that? Just as Steve’s client? He can ask for that, just to check in. He wants to see what Steve’s got of the tattoo. Sure, they have that meeting next week, and there’s no reason to have it early, but he kinda wants it.

Bucky’s got it bad.

“Daddy?” Grace’s voice startles him out of his haze, and it’s a good thing because he’s about to put batter on a very hot griddle. Just what he needs, a burnt hand.

“Yes, Princess?” Bucky clears his head, focusing back on the here and now. This is what’s important in his life. His daughter, everything else comes second. He adds three little circles of batter to the skillet and gives Grace a smile over his shoulder.

Grace doesn’t smile, and he knows something is wrong. “Do you think Mommy will call today?”

Bucky sighs. He’s been expecting this question for a while. Grace goes through stages. Sometimes she can be okay with just talking her mother over Skype and going to see her for long weekends. Then other times she wants it back like when she was younger, and Mommy and Daddy were both at her beck and call. She has no idea how much Bucky wants to be able to give that to her, but that is never going to happen. It breaks his heart a little more each time it comes up because it reminds him that there is something missing in her, their world. Something that he can’t give her, and that’s just not fair. Grace deserves the world and, as a father, it kills him that he can’t give it to her.

Since the pancakes are going to take a minute before they need to be flipped, Bucky crosses to the other side of the counter where Grace has been sitting in a tall bar chair and pulls her into his arms. She’s starting to get too big for this, but Bucky shoves that thought away. He wants her to stay little and his forever. Her arms are tight around his neck, clinging to him like a monkey which is just what they need, and it's the best thing in the world.

“Princess, I promise, Mommy will call soon.” She will, even if Bucky has to call Nat himself. He doesn’t think that it will come to that, but it’s always nice to know that it’s there. “She just gets busy sometimes. You know she loves you.”

“Yeah.” Her little head hits his shoulder and there is a distinct waver in her voice. It’s times like this that he just wants to punch Nat, even if she could take him out in a heartbeat. “I miss her.”

“I know, Princess, I know.” Bucky rubs her back, rocks her in his arms, does anything he can think of to make her feel better. “Do you wanna come help me flip pancakes?”

That gets an enthusiastic response out of her, bringing her back from the verge of tears. Bucky sits her on the counter and reminds her that the stove is hot and not to touch anything. He lets her hold the spatula in her hand with his much larger one covering it and guiding her into flipping the first pancake. It lands almost perfectly and that earns him a happy smile. It’s better than nothing at least.

When both sides are done, Bucky flips off the burner and plates their pancakes. Two for him, one for her. “What would you like to drink, Princess?”

“Chocolate milk?” she asks with a coy smile.

Bucky rolls his eyes like this is the greatest chore she could have asked of him. “Always chocolate milk. I’m surprised you haven’t turned brown and wet yet.”

“Daddy, that’s not the way it works.” She rolls her eyes back at him, and it takes everything he has to not laugh and spill the carton of milk on the floor. “And I like chocolate milk. Please?”

“Well, with a smile and a word like that, how could I say no?”

He makes her chocolate milk and a little for himself as well. While they eat, he makes faces at her with a milk mustache until her giggles are bouncing off the walls.

He sends her to brush her teeth and change out of her PJs while he does the dishes. He ends up sloshing most of the water onto the front of his shirt, making it stick to his stomach...which in turn makes him wonder what Steve would look like in a wet, white tank top. Then he starts wondering if there really was a six pack hiding under that shirt last week. He wouldn’t mind licking each and every groove, and he idly wonders if Steve’s pierced anywhere else.

Bucky is so lost in his daze that he jumps when Grace says calls his name. The plate he's washing clatters to the floor, throwing more suds on him. “Shit,” he mutters without thinking.

“Daddy, that’s a bad word.”

“You are absolutely right.” Bucky grins and leans down to pick up the plate, which fortunately didn’t break on him. “Just don’t go saying it, okay?”

“Yes, Daddy.” She’s still young enough that he believes her when she says she won’t. “Can I paint now, please?”

“Didn’t you do that last night before you went to bed?”

“Yes, but Mr. Rogers says that you have to practice every day if you’re going to get better.”

Bucky fights the urge to snort. Of course, Mr. Rogers would say that. He really can’t wait to meet the man. “Okay, but I need to do some work, okay?”

She agrees in a heartbeat because it's her favorite activity, guaranteed to keep her entertained for hours. Bucky sits at the dining room table with his laptop and law books, working on the next big case, while she drags out her new easel next the French doors leading to the porch and paints her next masterpiece. Bucky looks up quite often from his work to smile at her determined scowl, tongue peeking out of her mouth as she applies paint to paper. Bucky can watch her for hours, and has to remind himself to work.

It’s almost noon when the icon on the bottom of his screen lights up orange, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Two seconds later and the screen is overtaken by the image of woman with short red hair the same shade as Grace’s. “Princess, come here. Someone wants to talk to you.”

Grace’s squeals as she climbs onto his lap, immediately launching into everything she’s been doing to her mother. Bucky watches Nat smiles indulgently and for a brief moment, he wishes they were together, back to being a little family. There’s no point in wishing for the past however. Besides he’s well and truly over Natasha. It’s just nostalgia that makes him still long for her.

Grace is happy enough to talk to her mother for hours and he lets her. It’s almost an hour and a half before Grace suddenly jumps up and runs to her room to get something, allowing Bucky and Nat to say anything.

Bucky smiles at the computer screen, but doesn’t get a chance to talk before Nat is asking him, “How is she really?”

“She’s okay.” As much as Bucky might want to lie and tell her that Grace is great, no problems at all, he is never very good at lying to Natasha. “It’s been a hard couple of weeks, but all things considered, she’s doing alright. Been painting and coloring a lot.”

“That’s a good thing, right? She enjoys that?”

“Oh yeah, loves it. I can barely drag her away sometimes. It’s not something to worry about.”

“Good.” Nat sighs, and Bucky realizes that she looks tired. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen that before. “That’s good.”

“How are you, Natasha? I was planning on calling you soon, if you didn’t pop up.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just been busy here. I’ve been working almost nonstop. I didn’t hurt her feelings, did I?”

“No. She missed you though.”

“Damn it.” Nat mutters under her breath. “I’ll try to make it sooner next time.”

Bucky shrugs. “Just send me a text occasionally, yeah? Let me know you’re alive?”

“Aw, Bucky, I didn’t realize you still cared.” That teasing spark is back in her eyes, and Bucky knows she’s okay.

“I still care, some days, when I’m not still mad at you.” He winks, just to show her that he really isn’t still mad at her.

“You always were too good for me, Bucky.”

“Don’t I know it.” Bucky snorts.

“How are you?” Natasha’s voice takes a serious edge. “Are you with anybody?”

“God, Nat, you worried about my love life now?”

“Bucky.” She glares at him. Even though the computer screen separates them, Bucky is a little scared. He guesses that's what makes her so good at her job. “One of the reasons I moved to DC is because you deserved someone who made you truly happy. You can’t be doing that if you’re not dating.”

“Who’s got time? Between work and Grace, I’ve got my hands full.”

“Shut up, Bucky Barnes. You and I both know that nothing has ever stopped you from getting what you want. Now, come on, there has to be someone you like.”

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line. Natasha always did know how to get under his skin. “There might be somebody.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Guy. He’s somebody I used to know in college. He’s designing me a new tattoo, and he is fuck hot.”

“Ask him out.”

“It’s not that easy.” Bucky groans. It’s nice to have someone else know about Steve but hard to explain at the same time. “He’s changed a lot and there’s just...something about him. I don’t even know if he likes guys.”

“Ask him out. Have a fling. It can’t hurt.”

“It can hurt, Nat.” Bucky glares, his temper flaring for the first time. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve got Grace. I can’t just have a fling. She’ll get attached and then I’ll have to explain to her that some relationships just don’t work out.”

“She already knows that.”

“Yeah, I don’t want her to have to go through it again.”

They both glare at each other for a handful of moments before Nat sighs. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I have no business prying.”

“I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It’s not your fault.” Bucky manages a crooked smile. “We were happy once, weren’t we?”

“We were.” Nat smiles back at him and it's warm and comforting, even if only because it's familiar. “You could still be. You should go get him.”

“Maybe I will. You should be happy too, Nat.”

She doesn’t get the chance to answer him as Grace climbs back into his lap and proudly shows off her pictures, and Bucky’s mind drifts to whether or not Steve would say yes to a date.

**Author's Note:**

> The talented myheroin1 beta'd this for us in a jiffy. Thank you, m'lady!


End file.
